


A History Lesson

by MsLadySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 17:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12635319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/MsLadySmith
Summary: FB Writing Prompt:  Sherlock and Donovan are stuck in an elevator for an hourEver wonder why Donovan hates Sherlock?





	A History Lesson

It was well after 10pm as John and Sherlock left Greg's office and headed toward the elevator, and pressed the call button. "Oh, damn. Sherlock, I need to check something in the records room. I'll meet you back at the flat, OK?"

"Sure, John." John turned and headed down the hall. The elevator arrived, and Sherlock stepped on, to find himself face-to-face with Sally Donovan, as the door closed behind him.

"Hello, freak," she snarled.

"Good evening, Donovan. Staying late tonight?" Sherlock eyed the bag in her hand. It was covered with pictures of pink roses.

She followed his eyes, and sighed. "The guys upstairs got me a gift for my birthday."

"Happy birthday, then."

"Not really. I hate being reminded. Being 30 and single is awful."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Oh, I don't recall it being so bad."

"You're not single. You have John."

"I'm sure John has told you - he's not gay. Neither am I, as you may remember." 

The two of them stood quietly, avoiding each other's gaze, as the elevator started to descend. The uncomfortable silence was interrupted by a metallic grinding noise,and the elevator jerked violently to a stop. Both passengers were knocked to the ground. Donovan cried out as her ankle twisted under her.

The elevator went dark for a few seconds, then the emergency lighting came on. 

"Are you all right, Sally?" Sherlock asked her, his concern plain.

"Yeah. Think I may have done a number on my ankle, though."

Sherlock moved over sit beside her. "Let me take a quick look. I'm no doctor, but I have had my fair share of sprains," he smiled.

She eyed him warily, and slowly lifted her foot onto his lap. He gently removed her shoe and raised her pant leg a bit, feeling around her ankle. She winced. "I doubt it's serious, but you may have a mild sprain. Standard treatment is rest, ice, compression, and elevation. We don't have any ice, so just rest, compression, and elevation will have to do." He took off his scarf, and wrapped it snugly around her ankle and lower leg, resting it across his lap.

Donovan checked her cell phone. "Oh, great. This damn old building..." Donovan cursed under her breath.

"My cell has no reception in these elevators, either," Sherlock commented. "Hopefully, someone is answering the emergency intercom at this hour." He opened the panel, and pressed the call button.

The intercom buzzed, and a woman's voice answered. "Security desk."

"Yes, this is Sherlock Holmes. DS Donovan and I are in Elevator 4, and it appears to have gone out of order."

There was a shuffling of paper through the intercom. "Er... um.. yes, Mr. Holmes. Are you both OK?"

Sherlock glanced at Donovan. "I believe Donovan may have twisted an ankle, but otherwise, we are fine. How long until maintenance will be able to get the elevator working again?"

More shuffling. "We should be able to have a crew out here within 30 minutes."

Donovan nodded, "That will work. Just have them get us out of here."

"Quick as we can, ma'am." The intercom switched off.

* * *

After several minutes of silence, Donovan spoke up. "This is torture," she groaned. "Of all the people to get stuck in an elevator with..."

Sherlock looked at her cooly. "There was a time when this wouldn't have been so awful."

"A lifetime ago, Holmes. A lifetime ago."

"Not so. I remember it quite well, actually," Sherlock said, almost wistfully.

Donovan rolled her eyes. "Do you remember why that ended? You and your damned deductions..."

"Do you remember - those damned deductions are what attracted you to me in the first place."

"Yeah, but they weren't directed AT me then. That was simply hellish." 

Sherlock shrugged, and looked away from her. "I don't do it on purpose, you know."

Donovan softened. "Yeah, I know. But I just couldn't deal with it anymore."

"So now, your revenge is calling me 'freak' in every possible public setting?"

"I guess so."

"Maybe until the elevator is repaired, I can just be Sherlock?" he smiled hopefully.

She returned his smile. "OK. But if you tell anyone, I'll deny it."

"Fair enough. So what did the boys gift you for this monumental day?"

She pulled a box out of the gift bag. "A Glenmorangie Craftman's Cup Single Malt Scotch Whisky Gift Set."

Sherlock whistled approvingly. "Maybe we should break it out, as a good way to pass the time? You still prefer your scotch neat, don't you?"

"I'm glad you can remember things that don't piss me off, Sherlock," Donovan smiled, opening the gift box and taking out the bottle and two cups. Sherlock opened the bottle, and poured into each cup, handing the first to Sally. 

He set down the bottle. "A toast, then. To being 30 and single. At least you're not unhappily married, right?" He raised his cup with a grin.

Donovan laughed. "To being 30 and single." She tapped her cup to his, and they both took a long sip. 

She closed her eyes and smiled, the scotch burning its way smoothly through her. "Oh, damn, that's good." 

"Indeed. Smooth as silk," he agreed. His hand slid softly over the navy blue scarf now wrapping her leg. "Navy blue is definitely your color," he continued, studying the drink in his cup. 

She took another drink. His touch tingled pleasantly, enhanced by both the alcohol and her memory. She looked sternly into his icy eyes. "You know this is a bad idea, right?"

"Oh, yes. A terrible idea," he nodded, picking up the bottle. "Your cup appears empty. Refill?"

"Sure. It's my birthday, after all." He refilled both cups.

She raised her cup. "To birthdays, made more bearable with excellent scotch."

"Hear, hear!" Sherlock laughed, raising his cup as well.

They sipped their drinks in silence. The intercom buzzed. "Sherlock? Sally?" Greg's voice came through.

"Yeah, Greg. We're still here," Donovan answered. "When is the damn maintenance crew coming to fix the elevator? It's been 20 minutes already!"

"They just got here, but they had to chase off for some parts. Should be another 30 minutes or so. Everything OK in there?"

Sherlock and Donovan smiled knowingly at each other. Lestrade probably thought they were at each other's throats. "Yes, Detective Inspector, we are fine." Sherlock responded. Donovan stifled a laugh.

"Sally, just don't hit him. The paperwork would be horrendous."

"I will do my best, sir," she responded. Now it was Sherlock's turn to stifle a giggle. The intercom clicked off again.

With no one listening in, the two of them started laughing hysterically. "Poor Greg!" she exclaimed. "He has no idea..." She rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder, still shaking with his giggles. 

"How would he know? It was long before either of us started working with him, after all." Sherlock's arm went naturally around her shoulders. As their laughter subsided, she looked up at him quietly.

"This is a really, really bad idea," she repeated slowly, her voice just slightly more than a whisper.

"A terrible one," he replied, leaning in and kissing her lips gently. She returned his kiss, trembling as his tongue nudged her lips. 

She started to relax into the feelings flooding back to her, when she sat upright suddenly, gasping. "We can't do this, Sherlock..." She shook her head, trying to get herself focused on the present.

"I... I'm sorry, Sally. I just... lost my head for a moment." He cleared his throat, drew his arm back, and leaned against the wall, taking a final gulp of his drink. "This excellent scotch must have gone straight to my brain."

"Somehow, I doubt that," she mumbled. 

Sherlock looked at her, a smile on his lips. "I may be brilliant, dear, but I did not orchestrate a major mechanical failure of this elevator in order to be alone with you." 

Donovan stared at him, and laughed. "Yeah, I guess not."

She looked down at her cup as he finished refilling it again. He smiled as he poured some for himself, as well. He closed the bottle, and set it aside. "Last refill. Though it may be excellent, Glenmorangie appears to also be dangerous. I'm sure you would like to save the rest for later. Agreed?"

Donovan nodded. "Agreed. Besides, they should have us out of this elevator in 15 minutes or so, right?"

"Assuming all goes according to their plan, yes."

"Then a last toast? To history - may we always remember it, and never repeat it." Donovan raised her cup.

Sherlock raised his cup to hers. "To history, then."

They finished their drinks, tucking the cups along with the half-empty bottle back into the gift bag, just as the power came back on in the elevator, and it resumed its slow descent.

"We should get off the floor, don't you think?" Sherlock queried.

"I suppose we should. Give me a hand?"

Donovan gasped as Sherlock swept her up in his arms, carefully keeping her injured ankle from bumping anything. "You're injured. This is perfectly justified," he said calmly, as the protest formed on her lips. She glared at him silently, knowing he was right, when he lightly kissed her forehead. "You bloody psychopath..." she mumbled.

"High-functioning sociopath, remember?" He grinned.

"Freak..." Sally grinned right back.

The elevator came to a stop at the first floor, and the doors opened. They were greeted by John and Greg, who were clearly shocked by the spectacle of one Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan cradled in the arms of the man she most loved to hate, Sherlock Holmes.

Striding off the elevator, Sherlock looked at John. "Donovan here took a bit of a fall and twisted her ankle. Might be a slight sprain, but I will leave the medical opinion to you." Sherlock walked over to the nearest lobby chair, and gently sat Sally into it. He looked at her softly, with a smile only Donovan could see. "Let the good doctor take a look." 

John snapped out of his amazement and knelt down to take a look at Donovan's carefully wrapped ankle. Greg put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, looking at him questioningly. 

"Your Detective Sergeant will be fine under Dr. Watson's care, Lestrade. Probably won't even file paperwork for a workplace injury." Sherlock caught Donovan's smile over Lestrade's shoulder.

* * *

Donovan was on desk duty for a week, using crutches to get around while her ankle recovered. Sherlock stopped by one afternoon to pick up some case files from Lestrade, and stopped by her desk.

"What do you want, freak?" she gave him her characteristic glare. 

"Just checking to see how you're faring, after our harrowing little adventure," he grinned.

"Watson tells me I should be back on my feet in a few days."

"Good to hear. You'll be out chasing the dregs of the London streets in no time, I'm sure."

"Oh, and here's your scarf back," she said, handing him his scarf, neatly folded. "All clean and laundered, even."

"Thank you, Donovan." He tucked the folded scarf into the Belstaff's pocket, and headed back to his flat.

* * *

It had been a long day. He walked in the door of 221b, and hung up the coat. He pulled his scarf from its pocket, and unfolded it to hang up as well, when a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Setting the scarf on the hook, he reached down and picked up the note.

_I still have a half-bottle of Glenmorangie. It would be a shame to drink it alone._

Sherlock smiled to himself. _I wouldn't dream of letting you drink it alone, Sally._ He grabbed his coat and scarf, and headed back out the door.


End file.
